The Rainbow Flies High
by SomethingSimsy
Summary: As it turns Saturday in England, the very man himself is stood on the edge of Brighton beach, the red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple flag flying high in the sky with cheer in the air. Another step forward is not only literal. It is a very monumental day in the UK. In support of the legalisation of Gay Marriage bill officially coming to terms on the 29th of March, 2014.


**In celebration of a very important day for England (and Wales!) in my opinion, so I decided to do a quick little mark for it. I know Hetalia really isn't the best method for it, but I thought it would be nice nonetheless (even if this was quite a failed attempt). It's history for this country, after all!**

_**To mark the legalisation of gay marriage**__** from civil partnership – another step toward LGBT rights in Britain – set in one of the largest LGBT supporting communities I can think of, one I love visiting, too – Brighton! It's such a nice place, and when I first saw the flags flying I felt very proud to be British to say the least. **_

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters presented in this fanfiction or Hetalia**

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England leaned forward on the metal, blue railings, cooling his skin to the touch. He looked out at the sea in front of him; the waves lapped the ground pebbles of the beach, children laughing and people shouting happily whilst splashing water under the warm sun.

England was a great height above the very sea edge – he was in Brighton, after all, one of his favourite homeland sea sides, and he stood on the edge of the road which led into a slope just steps away from him, guiding anyone and everyone down to the beach, the old and new pier at either end of the rolling seas. He smiled; England really _did _love Brighton.

But England wasn't in Brighton for just another trip to the beach.

England felt a cool breeze ruffle his blonde hair and he turned around, looking down the long, hilly roads that led into the sprawling streets of Brighton. Lining the seafront was building upon building, all stylistically made to match. Each and every wall reflected the light and happy nature of the sea rolling in the distance from their clear windows. Then, out of the corner of his eye, something _else _made him smile.

A large flag flew in the seaside breeze, as free as freedom itself. In the morning sun, the shine and colours gleamed brilliantly; England suddenly realised he could hear the distant rhythm of music, cheering perhaps – _of course_, he thought, letting himself sigh in a kind of unexpected relief, _this is why I am here._

It was the twenty-ninth of March, a lively Saturday, the year two thousand and fourteen. It was a warm day considering how the weather had been going during the earliest days of spring. England stood there, looking rather absent, rather mission-less – but he didn't wait there without a reason.

England didn't stare into the sun for the sake of it, a smile breaking out on his face for once willingly. He did not turn his head to take another long and hopeful look at the large flag with no purpose, the fabric startling to settle down with peace, the sounds of cheer and celebration blurring into the background all around him. England didn't frown to himself slightly when he started to hear a more angry turn of events, sudden shouting that slowly died down, for no reason.

England let the sounds blur again. "The time has finally come..." he muttered to himself, his voice getting carried away with all the noise around him. A small smile tugged at his lips. "_Finally..._"

England didn't want to be different anymore. England didn't want to _feel _different anymore –and if he didn't want to feel that awful, why should his citizens feel so alien in a place he wanted them to call home?

That was why England rejoiced as the fighting died down, the complaints drowning under the pure cheer and relief that burst and danced in the air. England wanted his citizens to call his country home – so why not let them _finally _have their wish? He would let them call his country home, he _could _finally let them call his country home – now, it was in the open, as free as a bird and freedom itself.

He took another look at the coloured flag behind him, shining like the sun.

The day wouldn't go without its struggles – the sea crashing somewhere behind him wouldn't go without its storms – but it's always darkest before the dawn.


End file.
